


A Father's First

by Star_Going_Supernova



Series: A Creator's Heart verse [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Dad!Henry (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Epilogue, Fluff, Gen, I can't believe I forgot this tag:, Thanksgiving, happiness, what is angst? never heard of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova
Summary: Several months after the ritual was completed, the studio experiences its first Thanksgiving.That's it, that's the story.





	A Father's First

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I hope everyone is able to have a nice day with their family (if that’s your thing) or at the very least gets some good mashed potatoes. Mmm, mashed potatoes.
> 
> I never quite decided when A Creator’s Heart took place _(because I didn’t freaking expect to ever expand the universe, what the heck Star)_ so we’ll just say it’s been around six months or so since then.

Bendy stared down the corridor leading to the studio’s exit. Buddy sat next to him, doodling on some clean paper with his tail. The door hadn’t opened for hours now.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Alice said from behind him. It wasn’t the first time. 

Buddy twisted around to wave at her, but Bendy ignored them both. 

“You’ve been sitting there for most of the day. At least Buddy came and ate with the rest of us at lunch!”

“He brought me somethin’ back,” Bendy said. Maybe if he glared a little, the door would open sooner. 

“Bendy! Staring isn’t going to make Henry come back any faster!” He heard a thud against the floor, likely Alice stomping her foot. 

“He’s been gone for so long now…” Bendy whispered.

Alice sighed and sat down next to him. “I know. And he said he’d be back tonight, remember? There were a lot of things he wanted to get done before tomorrow.”

Bendy dropped his chin into his palm, elbow resting on his knee. “Thanksgiving doesn’t sound all that special to me,” he grumbled.

Buddy reached over and shoved his arm out from under his head, nearly making him pitch forward. Alice burst out laughing.

“Hey!” Bendy glared at the pipsqueak. “What gives?”

Shaking his head, Buddy told him, “Lots to be thankful for,” and pointed down at his drawing. A detailed image of Henry in his favorite armchair in the library smiled up at them. 

“All right, all right. Sheesh.” Bendy waited until Buddy was once more absorbed in his drawing before whispering to Alice, “Vicious little sucker, ain’t he?”

“He _is_ technically the eldest of us.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Bendy said, dropping his head back. 

Alice smiled indulgently, though it quickly faded to a frown. “Seriously, though,” she rested her hand on his shoulder, “why are so worried, Bendy? It’s not like he’s never left to run errands before.”

There had actually been a bit of a debacle the first time Henry had left the studio, just a week or so after the ritual— in that he’d initially refused to. 

“If somethin’ happens and I need to show someone my driver’s license, I’ll be done for. No one in their right mind would believe that I’m nearing my seventies.”

Bendy had looked at the piece of paper. “Well, I s’pose that won’t be a problem. It says right here you’re twenty-three.”

With a sigh, Henry had taken it back. “I appreciate it, but you can’t just change it yourself—” he’d cut himself off as his eyes widened. His license hadn’t had a scribble of ink correcting his age, but the actual document had truly displayed a number that matched his appearance. “But— how?”

Alice had steepled her fingers. “You were an animator, right?”

Henry'd stared at her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “That— that was indeed my chosen profession.”

Bendy had snickered as Alice continued, either ignoring or ignorant of the incredulity in the man’s voice, “Yeah, so you must know that sometimes, in a story, the part about _how_  something works is less important than what the character chooses to _do_ with the thing that works.” 

“So I should just assume that everything that could possibly identify me has changed to match the age I currently look like, and credit a magick ritual and toon logic as the reasons why?” 

“Yes.” 

Nodding, Henry had tucked his license back into his pocket. “Okay,” he’d said. “Good enough for me.” 

Bendy stared at the door, remembering how happy he’d been back then that Henry was able to come and go as he pleased. Oh, how innocent and naive his past self was.

“He could get hurt out there! The world isn’t safe, like the studio,” Bendy finally cried. “He— he could be attacked! Or, or he could get into a car crash! We even know someone who died in a car crash! They aren’t just statistics, Alice!”

“Yeah,” she said, “and it was Joey. I’m pretty sure it goes against every law of the universe for Henry to ever be like Joey, and cause of death probably counts.” 

“Toon logic!” Buddy added.

Bendy took a breath to argue but stopped to consider it. “No, okay, that actually makes a lot of sense.”

“See?” Alice jostled his shoulder with her own. “So does that mean you’ll stop staring at the door like—”

The entrance burst open, a familiar silhouette being backlit from the sun outside.

“Henry!” all three toons cried out, leaping to their feet. 

He laughed as he set his bags down, kneeling with open arms to accept his welcome home.

“I wasn’t gone _that_ long, guys!” he said, enfolding them in his embrace nonetheless. 

With his forehead pressed against the man’s chest, Bendy closed his eyes and said, “You shoulda seen it, Henry. These two chuckleheads were worried sick.”

Over the sounds of their protests— and the brief sting of Buddy’s tail slapping his leg— Bendy felt Henry’s laugh build up in his lungs. “I’m sure they weren’t the only ones, now were they?” 

Bendy shrugged. “Aww, I was just keepin’ them company while they waited. And,” he hesitated only slightly before admitting, “I know how much you like havin’ someone waitin’ to greet ya.”

Henry’s arms tightened around them. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

• • • • •

That night, Henry prepared most of the dishes for Thanksgiving himself, explaining that he was using old family recipes that he wanted to surprise them with. As the hours passed, toons came and went, sitting at the table with apple cider to listen as Henry told stories.

He talked fondly about the food fight one of his cousins started once, only to turn and wave his spatula at the toons, saying that they better not get any ideas. They might have taken it as a more serious threat had he not been wearing a bright red apron with the words **I’M THE CREATOR IN THIS KITCHEN** printed across it in bold. 

They learned about his parents as well, and the brother he’d lost recently. About their holiday traditions; their adventures in turkey chasing; the Mashed Potato Incident, and the ceiling stains that never went away; how at exactly midnight after Thanksgiving was over, they would blast the first Christmas song of the season; about how they would go around the table and each say the thing they were most thankful for that had happened since the previous Thanksgiving.

Somehow, those turned into stories about him and Joey, and how they met and got the studio up and running, and the success of the toons. Bendy watched as Henry told them about the first Thanksgiving at the studio, with everyone bringing a little dish to share for a special lunch hour. Henry’s smile gentled, his actions slowing.

Bendy popped up off the table’s bench. “All right, to bed with everyone. We gotta big day tomorrow, and some of you are still up later than you’d normally be.” He shooed the rest of the toons out, promising those that Henry customarily tucked in that the man would be there in a few minutes. 

As soon as it was just him and Henry in the kitchen— Alice having been the last one out, giving Bendy a significant look that he’d stuck his tongue out at— he walked up to stand next to him at the counter. Henry had gone still, staring blankly into space.

He got like that sometimes, when he remembered those he had lost. 

Leaning against his leg, Bendy remained silent; it was best to let Henry snap out of it on his own. 

Within a minute or two, he did, startling almost comically. “Sorry,” Henry said quietly as he looked around the empty room. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

Bendy shook his head.

Turning around, Henry sat down on the floor with his back to the cabinets. Bendy joined him, tucking himself beneath the man’s arm.

“Sorry,” Henry repeated. “I just…”

“You miss ’em, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.” 

Henry nodded slowly. “No, there really isn’t, is there,” he said. He held Bendy tight against his side for several long minutes. “It’s not as bad as it used to be, y’know.”

“What?”  
  
“When I get like that, when I remember. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

Bendy tilted his head back to find that Henry was smiling down at him. “Why’s that?” Bendy asked.

“Because it used to be me thinking about what I’d lost. Now, I can think about what I’ve gained, too, and that makes it easier to tell stories like the one about our first Thanksgiving without my heart aching somethin’ awful.”

“That’s good,” Bendy said quietly, drifting off against his Creator’s warmth. He was only just barely aware as, some indeterminable time later, Henry scooped him up and carried him to his room. He was more asleep than awake as he was carefully tucked into bed. 

“Goodnight, Bendy,” he heard Henry say softly. He wiggled his hand in Henry’s general direction, pleased when he received a chuckle for his efforts. That’s how he finished drifting off, with a smile on his face and the laughter of one of his most important people in the world lingering in his head.

• • • • •

The next day, final preparations were made. A table big enough for everyone to sit at was set and decorated, a small army of toons was set to decorate cookies in the kitchen, and Henry set up his tape recorder with the cassette bearing his chosen Christmas song in the library. 

The studio’s library was everyone’s favorite room. A newer addition since Henry’s arrival, it had high ceilings, shelves upon shelves of books that managed to overpower the ink with their own much better smell, and the comfiest couches arranged in a loose circle around a large fireplace. Off to the side was a thick, plush rug— bigger and softer than any of the toons had ever dreamed possible— piled with pillows and blankets. Unanimous decision had named it the _puppy-pile rug_. 

When Bendy skipped into the kitchen, already bustling with toons as food was brought to the dining table, it was almost time to eat. He, Alice, and Boris had been finishing up with a special job that Henry’d given them.

He watched a bowl of mashed potatoes go by. “Boy, I’m hungry,” he said, his tummy grumbling.

Without missing a beat, Henry— standing at the counter with the stuffing— responded, “Hi, hungry, I’m dad.” 

Everyone froze. Henry continued stirring, oblivious. They waited.

After nearly thirty seconds of silence, Henry’s motions halted as well. He didn’t turn to face them.

“Henry,” Bendy struggled to speak through the giggles rising up in his throat, “was that a dad joke?”

“…no.”

“That was definitely a dad joke,” Alice said. “I can’t believe—”

“It wasn’t a dad joke.” Henry finally spun to face the rest of the kitchen. “No, look okay— stop _laughing_ — it wasn’t a dad joke because I’ve never had kids so I don’t know how to make dad jokes.”

“Does this mean we can call you dad?” Buddy asked.

The expression on Henry’s face, combined with the little toon’s words, sent the room into hysterics. 

“I second the motion!” Bendy cried, raising his hand.

Alice, slumped against the wall, clutching her stomach lifted hers as well. “Third!

Every other toons’ hand shot into the air.

Faintly wheezing, Bendy shouted above the noise, “Motion passed!”

“This is not a democracy!” Henry cried, scooping Buddy up and tickling him mercilessly. “No motions are being passed, no one gets a say in anything, you’re all eating extra vegetables for dinner before you can even _think_ about having dessert!”

Without hesitation, over a dozen voices rose up in protest: “But _Dad!_ ”

Almost choking with his own laugher, Henry valiantly continued, “No buts! You’re all being punished for, for— I don’t know— but your punishment shall be be dealt in green beans and carrots and corn, and— _stop laughing_ — and you all have to do as I say!”

“Or what?” Bendy asked, yelping when Henry set Buddy down and dove at him in response.

“Or you’ll be tickled until you beg for mercy!” 

Bendy writhed on the floor, howling and struggling to twist away, until he finally went limp and Henry picked him up. 

“Did you learn your lesson, miscreant?”

The room began to calm down, toons slumping against every available surface as their jelly legs tried to recover from their laughing fits. 

“I sure did,” Bendy said, “ _Dad_.” 

“Why you little—”

• • • • • 

Halfway through Thanksgiving dinner, Bendy had to set his fork down and sit back. This was his family, together, enjoying life and free of pain.

It had been months since Henry’s arrival, and yet these moments of realization still happened.

He stared down at his plate, his smile threatening to break his face.

“Everyone? I have an announcement to make,” Henry said, immediately drawing the table’s attention. 

Henry smiled at them. “Part of the errands I had to run yesterday included finishing up something I’ve been working on for a little while now. As you all know, it was relatively easy for me to obtain the rights to this building. But this,” he held up a piece of paper, “means that I have the rights to the old cartoon and all images found within it. And that means all of you. No one could take you away now, no matter what.”

There was a moment of silence before Alice abruptly stood, shoving her chair back. Tears in her eyes, she circled the end of the table and buried her face in Henry’s shoulder. Everyone else snapped out of their stupors and followed. 

It had been one of their greatest fears, being found out. All it would’ve taken was one person getting a good look at them and escaping before anyone could stop them. Joey, in his disgust of them, had run away; what would other humans’ reactions be to living cartoons, they’d all wondered. 

Certainly not everyone would be like Henry. 

But if anyone who wanted to hurt them had to go through Henry first… then no one would ever touch them. 

Whispered, sniffled, “thank you”s filled the air. 

Bendy was sure that life couldn’t ever get any better than it was right then.

• • • • •

The couches in the library filled up after dinner. Henry, in his favorite armchair, read stories to them until midnight was only a few minutes away, at which point, he stood and finished preparing the tape recorder for their Christmas song. He gave Bendy a little nod.

Bendy jumped up and hurried off, tugging Boris and Alice after him.

“Before we get going with this tradition,” Henry said, watching as the three took up their places, “I wanted to tell you about another one. Tomorrow, we’ll be decorating _that_.” 

He gestured grandly towards the other side of the room, where Bendy, Boris, and Alice were standing. Once they had everyone’s attention, the three of them pulled on a large sheet, sending it to the floor and revealing the perfect Christmas tree that Henry had sent them to find earlier. 

A chorus of oohs and ahhs, followed by excited chatter, rose up from the seating area. 

“If you guys thought Thanksgiving was fun, you’ll love Christmas,” Henry said as everyone settled back down. “Who’s ready for our first song?”

Upon receiving a sea of raised hands, he pressed the play button and adjusted the volume as music began playing. 

It wasn’t long before a man’s voice sang from the speakers, _“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart—”_

Everyone turned to look at Henry as the song continued.

“Really?” Bendy asked.

Beaming, Henry said, “I thought it was fitting. Not the rest of it, though, just ignore all that.”  
  
“You picked a Christmas song based entirely on,” Alice paused, “ _five_ words.”

“Yes.”

“That,” Bendy said as Henry sat back down in his chair, “was a very toon-y thing to do.”

With a shrug, Henry tapped his foot along with the beat. “A cartoon’s shenanigans are only as good as its animator’s. You guys had to get it from somewhere, after all.” 

_“— I’ll give it to someone special.”_

With the fire roaring, the singer crooning, and the sleepy murmuring, Bendy almost— _almost—_ missed Henry’s quiet words, “I sure did, didn’t I?” as he gazed upon the numerous toons.

Bendy snuggled back into the couch, surrounded by family, and sighed happily. 

**Author's Note:**

> A note: the original Last Christmas didn’t come out until 1984, and that’s definitely later than when this story takes place. But I couldn’t pass up on the chance to use that lyric, so, oh well. 
> 
> I hope the fluff killed you (is that appropriate for a writer to say?). There’s at least one more story planned in this universe, but heck if I know when I’ll get to that one.


End file.
